


make this house a home

by silkymittsmcgee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, House magic, M/M, Magical Realism, pure fucking fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkymittsmcgee/pseuds/silkymittsmcgee
Summary: Sid's new house has a mind of its own. Flower meddles, Geno helps.





	make this house a home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nemorps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nemorps/gifts).

> This is a love letter to urban magical realism, and I appreciate you so much for having the same wants and needs that I do, Nemo. Enjoy lots of world building and a nervous Sidney with a big old crush. And Flower (love of my life), being perfect.
> 
> I owe a big ol' thank you to each of my sweet betas. Y'all're the best for putting up with me and my addiction to punctuation. 
> 
> There is a short ode to 'Amuse Bouche' by sevenfists, in that I needed Geno to tell Sid “you’re a snack” quite desperately. Thank you for that gift.

“Now, this is just ridiculous.”

Sid stared at an empty stretch of wall where the bathroom door had once stood. The house had been getting more aggressive over the past few weeks, which was fine, but not at two in the morning when he had to pee. He sighed and moved along the hallway, keeping his hands away from the walls (which, despite being covered in curling floral wallpaper, had spitefully managed to give him a splinter last week), until he reached another door.

“Listen, I’m sorry last night didn’t work out,” Sid muttered, past the point of feeling like an idiot for talking to a house. The house listened, for sure. “He was kind of a jerk, you wouldn’t have liked him anyway. Definitely would not have taken his shoes off at the front door.” The floor creaked. “And he probably wasn’t even into gardening. Or, like, fireplaces. No cozy evenings in the living room for us, that’s for sure.”

With an alarmingly anthropomorphic sigh, the door inched open and Sid made his way directly to the toilet. It did not escape his notice that the house was exercising a modicum of humor once again. Every square inch of wall space was occupied by toilets (other than a single sink in the corner—how considerate). And the door had disappeared again.

“You know, I feel like we _ could _ have a great relationship.” Sid washed his hands, drying them on his pajama pants when the house did not offer up a convenient hand towel. “I like you. I like your architecture and your yard and your gardens! I’m a contractor! I try to help you look and feel your best all the time!” He paced. The tile was actually really nice—he was always a sucker for marble, and the hexagonal shape was pleasantly off the beaten path. It needed a serious clean (again—Sid had no idea how or why, but no matter how many times he cleaned, by the next day everything was covered in grime), but it was gorgeous. “So I don’t entirely understand why you feel the need to mope and poke and prod me like this. We could be fine, just the two of us!”

A toilet flushed. Sid glared at it.

“Listen, house. I’ve gotta be up and on site tomorrow at seven. Could you maybe bring the door back, so I can get back to bed?”

Sid wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought that probably five or six toilets flushed in tandem. He grit his teeth.

“I’m serious. I dealt with the squirrels getting into the insulation last week, so I feel like you owe me.” He waited. “You need to quit acting like a child. Yes, I know you’re a house, but you’re acting like a toddler.”

Maybe the house was just flushing all the toilets?

“Don’t make me call Flower, house.”

Honestly, Sid probably should have been suspicious, but more than anything he was grateful when his cell phone shot into the room from what he had previously thought was an air vent, but might well be a portal between dimensions. He probably should have questioned it more when Flower laughed until he choked on his own spit. He definitely should have stopped and thought for a minute when Flower simply replied, “Oh, I know a guy.”

*

Sid moved to town four and a half months ago. Fresh out of a relationship that was going nowhere fast, he’d packed all of his things into boxes and called up one of his college buddies who owned a magical bakery with his wife on the coast. Flower was overjoyed. By the time Sid had made the long drive from Toronto, Flower had lined up a job with a local construction company, a house for Sid to rent from a lovely older couple whose children had left for college, and the first installment of baked goods in what Sid was sure would be a long and ongoing addiction.

“Don’t you think it’s a little big?” Sid had asked, as Flower walked him through the house. Built in the early 1900s, it had gorgeous plaster walls and high ceilings lined with dark wood beams. The floors gleamed in the warm light that slanted in through huge windows, and Sid could easily picture setting a massive armchair in front of the fireplace. The entire home had an air of coziness about it. Sid loved it immediately.

“I mean, yeah, maybe it’s big, but like, think about kids you know?” Flower gestured to the back yard. “Put a playground, maybe sandbox, I think…”

“Okay, so it sounds like maybe _ you _ should be renting the place.”

“No, no, this is definitely for you. Vero and I love our home, this is home for you.” He grinned. “But maybe we bring the kids around sometime, eh?”

“Oh for sure.”

He’d taken the place. He’d moved his few boxes in, redirected his mail, and spent an inordinately long time organizing his kitchen cabinets. Those first few weeks were blissful, a honeymoon period that gave no indication of the tantrums that were to follow. Sid had never lived in a house with such a forceful personality—his previous apartments had always been so used to the constant tenant changeover that they never seemed to be interested in forming relationships. The closest Sid could probably come was his parents’ house when he was growing up—it was always really good about neatening up little scuffs on the walls or letting his mom know when the stove needed a good cleaning. Sid and Taylor both had definitely just bounced if they tripped and took a tumble and Troy was always complimenting the house in ways that made the house absolutely glow with pride.

So this house was nice, at first. The same general feeling of fondness whenever Sid hung up some photos, or touched up a bit of chipped paint. He had thought that they were cultivating a nice relationship, but as the weeks went on, something changed. That delicious warm light had started to slip away, and he found himself stubbing his toe a lot more often on corners that seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere. No matter how much furniture he carried into the house (or bullied Flower into helping him carry), the rooms never felt truly cozy enough. Dust began to sprout in corners whenever Sid wasn’t looking, no matter how much cleaning he did. He started inviting Flower and his family over more often, hoping to appease the house in one way or another. It seemed to perk up when there were little kids around, which Sid guessed made sense—it was used to being a family house. On those days, Sid liked the old house, with its creaking floorboards and poky corners. Most days, he found it depressing. The empty rooms, the endless clouds of dust. The house felt like it was waiting for something and was miserable that Sid wasn’t providing it. “I’m not going to adopt a horde of children just to make you happy!” he found himself telling the hallway once, and the house had seemed to exhale a gust of dust, the wallpaper peeling in waves of despair. Great.

So he had relied on small, thoughtful home improvement projects, hoping to curry some favor with the old pile of plaster. He cleaned the chimney (and the resulting pile of soot in the living room after the house sneezed), refinished the deck, and installed some solar lights along the front walkway. After each little project, things would brighten up for a couple days, and then sink right back down into a strange depression that eventually culminated in the death of all the new chrysthanthemums Sid had planted in the front garden. He was furious. 

“What is it gonna take? I already have Flower and his girls over at _ least _ twice a week, and Tanger’s family has come over a bunch of times to play. You want me to throw a party?” The porch light flicked on, illuminating Sid standing in the driveway, hands on his hips. “Because we’ve done a dinner party already; we did one last week.” The light dimmed. “Parties, barbeques, house warmings, we’ve done it all. What’s next?” 

Sid was an open-minded guy, he liked to think. His roommate in college had been a warlock in an open relationship with a were-raccoon, which only got weird after Sid had gotten back to the room after a late study session to find the boyfriend (decidedly _ not _ in raccoon form) digging through the trash under Sid’s desk. But when the house started playing soft jazz and illuminating candles that Sid didn’t even know he had, he got the distinct feeling that perhaps his house was trying to pimp him out. And that was pretty weird.

*

He’d tried, though. Downloaded a couple of apps, let Kris set him up with one of the guys from the fire station, even brought someone home one night from a local bar. The apps were a complete bust, he had zero chemistry with the firefighter (though Brian did agree to give him his mom’s meatloaf recipe, so that was nice), and even though he thought the date with the guy he picked up at the Golden Knight was fantastic, he hadn’t realized that he was auditioning for a throuple. He hoped Nate and Erik were very happy together. 

So he was feeling pretty discouraged. 

Especially now that he was stuck in a bathroom with seventeen toilets, one sink, and no doors. Not one of the best nights he’d ever had, for sure.

“So...the guy you know. Is he, uh, available now?”

“No, idiot. It’s two in the morning. We’ll go visit him tomorrow afternoon. Go to sleep, Sid, _ calisse_.”

“Oh, for sure, it’s just that the house literally will not provide a door for me to exit the bathroom, so if your witch friend could help now that would be super.”

Flower sighed. “Let house know that if it lets you go back to bed, I’ll bring Estelle and Scarlett over later this week. We can make cookies.”

The house was a dirty eavesdropper, and a door appeared. Sid scowled at it. “Gonna hold you to that, bud. See you tomorrow, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah, good night, _ cher_.”

Sid wasted no time in getting through that door, though he did trip over the door jamb and then subsequently on a hall runner that had not been there before, and that he suspected had been placed there for the sole purpose of tripping him (jerk). The house very kindly did not move the door to his bedroom, nor did it pull any funny business with his bed. Sid burrowed under the covers, muttered a thank you to the house, and passed out to the sound of pipes clicking and groaning while the wind whistled outside.

*

Bear Cove was an admittedly strange little town. Sid had done all of his schooling in either Canada or the US, which were both extraordinarily progressive in terms of magical equality acts and anti-discrimination laws. Nevertheless, the more esoteric magical individuals typically kept to themselves, and cultivated small and inclusive magical villages that were community-driven and overwhelmingly open-minded. Bear Cove was one of them. Founded by a group of aggressively affectionate shifters in the early 1600s, the town had started out as a single street cluttered with family homes and community-run shops, and now boasted an intricate web of twisting roads and a population of almost three thousand people. And a lot of ghosts.

“Afternoon, Esther. See anything good today?”

Esther was pale blue and liked to hang out in Sid’s front garden. She had always lived on this street, and liked to keep an eye on things. “Dr. Vyas is addicted to _ Schitt’s Creek _. His wife has no idea.”

“He stay up way too late again?”

“Yeah. At least I’m into it? Last month’s binge of that wedding show was painful.”

Sid laughed. “Let me know if he cries when he watches the open mic episode, okay? Taylor and I lost it.”

She waved him off and floated across the street, hovering over the Vyas' holly bushes to peer in the window. Most people had installed blackout drapes, or at least window frosting, but Dharmesh Vyas was a trusting soul. And Esther was fine, really. Apparently, a couple of years ago she had even disrupted a robbery, so she’d earned some window peeping, Sid thought. 

He locked his truck and carried his work bag inside, watching carefully for jutting door handles or poking corners. Nothing. The floor even looked...clean. Alarmingly so. The windows were gleaming. The carpet treads on the stairs were plush, with not a trace of dirt or animal hair. A glint of light caught Sid’s eye, and he turned his head to see a chandelier. That chandelier had not been there before.

The house was pulling out all the stops.

“You’re a jerk,” he muttered. “Can’t you just do this for me, without using Marc-Andre and his family for bribery?”

The front door swung open, and there stood Flower in all his floury glory. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his apron. “Hey, house. Hey, Sid. Ready to go?”

“I thought he was coming to meet us here?”

“Nah, we’re going to his place. We have to talk,” he glanced around and stage whispered, "_strategy._”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” At least Sid wasn’t covered in sawdust. He shut the door behind him and fell into step beside Flower, hands in his pockets. “Is he close?”

“He’s got a place on the main drag. Pretty new, I don’t think you’ve been yet.”

Sid paused. “I didn’t think there was anywhere on Main that was available? Wasn’t Muzz’s wife looking for a spot to move her bookstore?”

“Ah, well, yes.” Flower ran a hand through his hair and smiled. It left streaks of flour from his forehead to the nape of his neck. “But Geno makes space for himself pretty easily.”

Sid didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but he supposed he would find out soon enough. Instead, he and Flower got to chatting about the girls’ school, and how Vero was doing with baby James. Flower grinned as he recounted endless tales of sweet baby noises and projectile vomiting (Sid made a note to not stand within range of the new baby, as much has he adored him). They made quick work of the walk from Sid’s neighborhood to the top of Main Street, where they waved at Jake through the window of Flower’s bakery. Sid poked Flower. “He seems to be working out well.”

“He’s great. So long as he reads labels before he applies the charms, you know. Last week, entire batch of cupcakes designed to make kids float, just, like, six inches off the ground? Instead of using the packet labeled _ specifically _ for floating, he chooses _ flying gel_.” He laughed. “Next thing I know, call from six year old birthday party. Children holding onto telephone wires!”

“I actually think I heard about that—was that Saturday?” Flower nodded and Sid continued, “I was on a date with that guy, Brian? Dumolin, from the fire station? He got called in.”

“Jake owes you at least a drink, then.”

Sid shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think it would have really gone anywhere, anyway. Nice enough guy, for sure, but by the end of the evening I was way more interested in what he could do in the kitchen than what he could do anywhere else.”

“I dunno, Sid, the internet says that wooden spoons—”

“Shut up.”

Flower came to a stop, and Sid glanced around. He stared. Right there, in between Cath’s children’s clothing shop and the Hornqvists’ hardware store, was a door. 

There had not been a door there the previous day. 

Sid blinked. It was an old fashioned door, with square panes of bubbled glass at eye level. A small plaque next to the door read “_E. Malkin, witch_” in delicate gold paint. Sid raised an eyebrow at Flower, who shrugged and opened the door. 

It was a long, narrow room, dimly lit with wall-mounted sconces and delicate crystal chandeliers. One wall was draped with velvety-looking fabric, while the other was lined with mirrors. A long, thin counter stood against the mirrored wall, topped with shelves that were clustered with a sea of oddly-shaped bottles filled with jewel-toned liquids. A strange collection of squashy armchairs and cushions were scattered around low tables spaced throughout the room. It was as if a speakeasy had shopped for furniture exclusively through resale stores. Sid had to step back outside, stare at the wall, and look back inside. The room was too big for the space allowed for it by the structure of the building, and magic was so fucking weird.

“Hello.”

A man had appeared at the end of the room, drying a glass with a white polishing rag. Sid stared. He was nearly six and a half feet tall, with dark, sleepy-looking eyes and a generous mouth. His voice was a deep rumble, and Sid honestly wondered if he had some shifter in him, maybe a bear? His legs were miles long in dark denim, his shoulders stretched a grey henley obscenely, and his hands were _ huge _. Sid would bet that his dick was—

Flower interrupted Sid’s (filthy) thoughts. “Hey, Geno. Is now a good time?”

“Yes, yes, come in.” He said in heavily accented English. The man—the witch—ushered them to a couple of armchairs and grabbed a notebook before he joined them. He sat, crossing his stupid long legs at the ankle, and looked expectantly at Sid. “Flower tell me, your house is misbehave.”

Sid wished he could fan himself. He felt a little hot under the attention of those warm dark eyes, and that wide, expressive mouth. It had been a while since Sid had been so immediately attracted to someone, and it was throwing him off. “Uh, yeah, it’s throwing a bit of a fit?” He cleared his throat and looked at the floor to continue, “It calms down when we have company, or a party or something. It’s historically been a family home, so I think the transition to a single guy is hitting it pretty hard.”

Geno smiled broadly (Sid was a mess), and wrote something down in his notebook. “You know, old family still close?”

“No, the kids are all at university or older. The parents relocated to a condo in Montreal, so they’re closer, I guess, but they don’t really visit or anything.”

Geno hummed. “That’s hard for family house, like, big change.” He glanced at Sid (who had managed to take his eyes off the floor) and raised his eyebrows. “You try, like, talk to house? Sometime people know house is thinking, but don’t try talk, you know?”

Flower laughed. “Oh, he talks all the time. Sid and that house have full blown conversations in splinters and scolding.”

There was a stupid little twinkle in Flower’s eye that Sid did not like at all. “We...talk. In a fashion.”

“What is house doing, for show feelings?”

“It, uh—” Sid blew out a hard breath. “It locks me out of rooms, or moves the doors. It trips me, or gives me splinters. Sometimes it will move everything around in my kitchen cabinets, or grow extra rooms. I get lost pretty frequently.”

“And the house is filthy when Sid's home alone.” 

“Yeah, thanks, Marc.”

Geno tapped his thumb against his (beautiful) lower lip, thoughtfully. “Sometimes, Sid, house become very human. Has hope, dream, you know. More interaction with family, with people, house is more alive.”

Sid nodded. He’d seen that with his family home, and one of his college friends had lived in a frat that basically adopted all the boys living there. 

Geno continued, “So when there big change, like, family move away, new people come in, is adjustment period.”

“I got that, I think. The first few weeks were really nice, and it felt like we were really getting along.”

“What change?” Geno asked.

Sid blushed. He had zero desire whatsoever to tell this man (who was somehow exactly his type) that his house was trying to bully him into procreating. “Oh, well, I don’t know, maybe I’m just not interesting enough? The house was really busy, before. That big family, y’know.”

Flower snorted. “The house likes kids, G. It practically glows every time I bring my family around.”

Geno’s lips quirked to the side, and he asked, “What, Sid, no big family to give to house?”

Sid was pretty sure that his entire face and neck (and chest, and maybe arms at this point) were bright red. Geno was looking at him and Sid was suddenly very annoyed with all the apps he had downloaded, and the fact that Geno wasn’t on them. He rallied, he was good at rallying. “Yeah, no, my hordes of children are with their other dad this month.”

His stomach dropped to his knees when Geno stood up suddenly, but he just walked over to the shelves with all the bottles on them. It was fine. His stomach was doing cartwheels, but it was fine. Geno glanced at them, smiled. “Want drink?”

“Yep, please.” Sid said, and immediately winced.

Geno smiled and wandered to a shelf near the door to grab glasses.

“Yep, please.” Flower repeated. Sid shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

“Please shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying, ‘yep—”

“Please for the love of all deities, let’s not do this right now. You can make fun of me later.”

Flower’s eyes lit up. “Vero is going to _ love _ this.”

*

Sid returned home to a very well-behaved house that night. Instantly suspicious, he had watched where he walked and wandered around the house, cataloguing changes. That weird hole in the ceiling of the living room was gone, replaced with a tasteful medallion, and there was a significantly reduced level of dust in the corners of the dining room. He had opened a kitchen cabinet, pleased to find it actually stocked with the chickpea pasta he had been pretty sure the house had eaten, even if he still couldn’t find the tomatoes he was sure he had bought on Tuesday.

Even the bathroom door was where it should be. 

He had put dinner together, watching carefully for the pot to bubble over or the oven to blow up (you know, casual things), and chatted to the house about his day. The house seemed to brighten when he mentioned Geno’s bar, and he made a mental note to tell Geno about it the next day.

And so he found himself standing in front of “_E. Malkin, witch” _ the next day. Except, it looked nothing like the day before. The simple stoop had been widened, and now boasted a small cafe set and window box filled with flowers. Sid frowned at it, then shook his head (magic was weird) and stepped inside. Gone were the drapes and mirrored walls; instead, the tiny space was filled with stacks of books and papers. A fish tank with a huge ball of moss stood in the corner and bubbled merrily while Sid stared. He could hear a kettle screaming from a back room. 

Nothing was the same. 

Sid was very glad he had only the slightest grasp on magical theory (only enough to set the pre-certified wards at work), otherwise he was sure his brain would be exploding.

“Hey, Geno? You here?”

There was a crash, then, “Sid! Yes, I come!”

He wondered if he ought to go check on Geno, but was glad he stayed where he was when Geno stumbled out of the back room, carrying a huge mug of tea and wearing a white t-shirt and some _ very _ acid wash jeans. The jeans should have been hideous, but somehow worked on Geno’s stupid long legs. 

Sid was doing a lot of staring these days. 

Geno ran a huge hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Sorry, Sid, didn’t know you come today.”

He was such an idiot—maybe Geno only worked by appointment? But this was just a visit, Sid just dropping in to say hi (to the object of his sudden—aggressively sudden—affections), it was fine. “Yeah, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Is that—is that okay?”

“Of course, is no problem,” Geno stepped over a pile of books, grasped Sid’s shoulder in one big hand, and bussed a kiss to his cheek. “Nice to see, come inside.”

He felt embarrassed, a touch pleased, his face hot. “Um, thanks. What’s going on in here today?”

Geno led the way towards the back of the room, winding his way through stacks of papers. “Is study day, I think. Good to have quiet day, you know?” 

They crossed into another room, and Sid saw a teenage girl sprawled across an armchair in the corner. She looked up and waved, then went back to her textbook. The room was wreathed in shelves absolutely stuffed with reading material, and a large wooden table filled the space in the center of the room. Geno placed his mug of tea on a coaster and waved Sid to a seat. “Sid, want tea?”

“Oh, sure, thanks.” It looked like Geno was taking notes, a thick book laid out on the table with a teaspoon holding Geno’s place. Sid pulled a sheet of notes towards him, annoyed when he realized it was all in Russian and he couldn’t read a thing. He startled when a cup of tea appeared at his elbow. He held the notes up, flushing, “Sorry, I was just curious what you were working on.”

“Is okay,” Geno grinned at him, and pulled his chair up to the table. He leafed through the papers and spoke something in Russian, his voice lower and smoother than when he spoke in English. The pages seemed to flicker, and suddenly Sid could read what was written. “Just notes for few different problems. Your house, mm, Malin Hornqvist has gnome infestation, and Vero want little help for baby sleep.”

Sid nodded, immediately interested. “How long have you been here, then? Not _ here _, specifically,” he said, gesturing to the room around them, “But in Bear Cove? Seems like you know a lot of people.”

Geno took a long sip of his tea. “I move to Canada four years ago, from Russia. Not Bear Cove until, maybe, one year ago?” He smiled softly, and gestured at the girl curled up in the corner chair. “My friend, Sergei, his family, they give me place to stay before I make this space. Victoria help me with English, she best.”

Sid was overwhelmed with the idea that he and Geno had been in the same space, walking these same tiny streets for the past four months. He wondered at all the times they might have just passed each other by, maybe in the tiny corner store, or at the occult farmers markets on Saturdays. “So when did you open, uh, here?”

“Was maybe two month ago?”

Sid was fascinated. “And does it change every day?”

“Depend on who come in, what they need.” Geno steepled his fingers in front of his face, his mouth an enticing curve. “Today, Victoria study, I need research and plan. Yesterday, you come in, need drink, I guess.”

Blushing (he honestly should ask Flower for a magical danish or scone or something—anything that stops this blushing), Sid said, “My home life has been very stressful as of late, thank you.” 

Geno laughed, full and deep, and got up to fill his cup with more tea. He motioned at Sid’s cup with the pot, and Sid shook his head. “Shop shifts, little bit, every day. Is how I set up, you know.” He pulled his chair back into the table, and Geno was sitting closer than before, Sid was sure of it. “Spoke to shop, tell it little things, how to notice what people need.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Is my magic. I speak things to being.”

“Like...spells?”

Geno huffed a little laugh. “No, not spells. No _ hocus pocus _ or _ abracadabra _, just talk. World want to listen, just have to—have to find best way for say, so things can understand.”

Sid nodded along gamely. “Do things talk back?”

“Always. Is why Flower ask for help with you house. Maybe you guys have translation issue, you know?” Geno smiled at him and Sid was on fire.

“Um.” He most assuredly did _ not _ want his house talking to Geno. Who knows what the stupid thing would say to Geno, honestly. Plus, maybe this was enough—this friendliness, this tenuous, budding _ something —_maybe Sid could work up to asking him to dinner, or maybe coffee was better, and he’d tell the house about it and it would be fine. The house had been so _ nice _ yesterday. “I mean, maybe.” But the house was the only reason Geno was talking to him. So he couldn’t just drop it, that would be weird. “I definitely appreciate your insight, for sure. What—what have you been researching, about it?”

Geno threw him an odd look (Sid had been too awkward, he knew it), but explained his notes anyway. Sid tried to feel bad about how he focused more on the shape of his mouth than his actual words, but couldn’t find it in him to do so. 

*

And so it continued.

Sid chatted with the house, tried not to use the handrails just in case of splinters, went to work, and spent at least an hour hyping himself up and fussing with his hair before going to Geno’s shop. Every day it was a little different, with the notable exception of two and a half days where the inside of the shop pulsed with lights and music at all hours, and Geno came out of it looking a little frazzled and sleep deprived.

“Go-go club. Shop think I’m homesick, a little,” he explained to Sid, as they stood outside the shop and stared at the purple and green lights flashing from under the new steel door. The windows had disappeared, but a neon sign was mounted on the wall, reading “_E. Malkin, witch, dancing queen_”. Sid suppressed a giggle. “I go out all the time, in Russia. Don’t know why, if think homesick, not make _ nice Russian restaurant_, or something!” Geno said meaningfully, glaring at the wall.

Sid had blinked, and suddenly the steel door and beaming lights were gone, replaced with warm brick and a creaky wooden door. The original plaque was back, and Sid leaned in to read “_E. Malkin, witch, finicky restaurateur_”. Geno sighed.

The food really was great, though.

*

“So, I heard through the grapevine that you had dinner at Geno’s last night.”

He flicked Flower an irritated glance, and helped Estelle measure out the correct amount of chocolate chips. “And what grapevine was that? Kris?” It was baking night at Sid’s, as promised to the house at the beginning of the week. The house was in a _ very _ good mood.

“Might have been. He said it looked very cozy.”

“He needs a new hobby, if he was peeping in windows on a weeknight.”

Flower laughed at him. “Sid, you are this entire town’s hobby.” He narrowly rescued the bag of flour from Scarlett’s tiny hands, then handed her a spoon for mixing, instead. “Even the neighborhood ghost talks to you every day.”

“Esther just gets lonely.” Sid replied. “Plus, she talks to the Vyases.”

“No, she _ watches _ the Vyases. Totally different.”

Clearly, Sid needed backup. He looked down at Estelle, who was measuring scoops of cookie dough onto the baking sheet with her tongue stuck out in concentration. “Estelle, you talk to Esther, right?”

She gave him a wholly unimpressed look. “Uncle Sid, Esther only talks to you.” She eyed him for a moment before she scooped up a fingerful of cookie dough and stuck it in her mouth. “Mama says Esther has an unhealthy interest in your dolt life.” Wow, okay.

“Adult life,” Flower corrected, “And Vero is right. Although, that may be a case of pot calling kettle black, you know. You are Vero’s favorite topic of discussion at book club.”

Sid sniffed. “It was just dinner. He had some more suggestions for the house, and questions about the wards we do for new constructions at work. And honestly, I’m not even sure he’s into guys, let alone into me.”

“Sid. You are like, sixty peach emojis.”

“I can’t believe you would objectify me like this, Marc.”

Flower grinned at him, evilly. “Estelle, why don’t you tell Uncle Sid what your babysitter said last night.”

Estelle looked up, and obediently recited, “Natalie said that Geno said that Sid was a whole buffet.”

“I’m a _ what_.”

“You’re more than just a snack, Uncle Sid.”

“Estelle, you are _ six years old_.” He glared at Flower. “What are you teaching your children, you horrible father. And who is your babysitter?”

“Natalie Gonchar. Geno stayed with them for a while when he moved here.”

“Oh, my God.”

“You’re a whole _ buffet_, Sid.”

“Please take your children and go home.”

*

Sid woke up with a start, and blinked blearily in the weak morning light. Had he really fallen asleep on the couch? He had really fallen asleep on the couch. The fire had lit up all on its own after Flower and the girls left, the flames crackling merrily just a few feet away from where Sid laid, book propped open on his chest. He had settled into the couch cushions, reflecting on the welcoming feeling the house had all afternoon, warm and cozy, like a house should be. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep on the sofa, but it was so much more comfortable than it had been recently; the worn cushions softer, the leather more supple than the day Sid had bought it from the furniture warehouse. 

He sat up, back muscles creaking, and rubbed his hands through his hair. “House, what time is it?” The hall clock chimed six times, and Sid sighed. “Thanks, house.”

He showered, shaved, threw on his work clothes and was locking up the house when he heard a ghostly throat clearing behind him. “Good morning, Esther.”

“Sidney.” She was nearly invisible in the watery pre-dawn light, but her arms were crossed, her eyebrow cocked sassily. “You stayed in last night.”

He threw his work bag in the back of his truck. “I had company. Marc and the girls came over.”

“I could see that.” She drifted over to block his driver side door. “You _ almost _ had more company.”

“What?”

“A certain someone walked past your house last night, looked very interested.” She loomed closer to him, using her ghost powers to hover until he had to look up at her. Jerk. “Why didn’t you tell me you have an admirer, Sid?”

Sid frowned at her. “I don’t.”

“Do, too. Tall dark stranger. Humongous nose.”

“That’s rude, his nose is fine.”

She pointed a victorious index finger in his face. “Ha! You know exactly who I’m talking about. Spill the deets, Squid.”

Sid flushed. “It’s not—he’s not—he’s just a friend.”

“He’s also the reason you’ve been leaving your house for hours on end every night this week.”

Sid huffed. “I run errands, too, you know. And I have other friends.”

She looked at him pityingly. “Sidney, you idiot, you’re practically a hermit. You have two married friends with families, and you talk to me everyday, like clockwork.”

“I have hobbies!”

“Yeah, arguing with your house and revenge gardening do not count.” Esther picked at her incorporeal fingernails. “You know, I think this is good for you.”

“What?”

“Having a big old crush on someone. Plus, I think it’s reciprocal.”

Sid scoffed at her, and moved to open the truck door. “You’ve seen him, like, one time. Why would you think that?”

“Um, because he stood outside your house trying to figure out if he could go knock on your door, staring with like, stupid heart eyes.”

“I’m going to work.”

“I like this for you!”

“Have a good day, Esther.”

*

The house started fighting with him again. It started so small—the lights flickering and dimming in the bathroom when he was in the shower, and then the water running so cold that he lost the erection he’d been stroking. “Are you fucking _ kidding _me?” Sid demanded. 

The water completely shut off. Great.

Sid had to wash the conditioner out of his hair in the sink, then his coffee pot didn’t brew, and then he found that moths had eaten through holes in almost all of his work branded t-shirts. He didn’t even know that moths ate polyester-blend things. He was in a foul mood all day. He snapped at everyone until Mike, the troll that they had hired to help pour the foundation, finally took Sid aside and told him to “chill, bro.”

So that was where Sidney was at.

At five, he returned to the house and stomped his way inside, all the way back up to the bathroom, and turned the shower on. Water dutifully chugged out of the shower head, and Sid glared at it suspiciously. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was absolutely covered in sweat and dirt, he would not be attempting this. He got in the shower.

The water shut off.

Sid yelled in frustration.

And dust started pouring out of the shower head.

“Fucking—!” Sid scrambled out of the shower and yanked his clothes back on. He was even filthier than before, it didn’t fucking matter if he was wearing a sweaty t-shirt. He thudded down the stairs, fuming, and slammed the front door on his way out. “Fuck you, house! This is ridiculous!”

The house just sat there, looking innocent. Sid stood in the driveway, hands on hips, and yelled at his house. He was actually doing this. He was definitely going insane. “This is so unbelievably stupid, house. I try to do nice things for you, I try to bring people over so you get that family thing you want so bad, I go on dates, I am _ actively _ pursuing this guy that _ apparently _ we both like!” He was boiling. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, cut me a _ break _?”

The house seemed to wilt, suddenly, lights flickering out, and Sid felt bad. An old red tricycle wheeled slowly out of the garage (Sid didn’t know when that got there—likely the house had snuck it in within the last week), squeaking piteously. He sighed. “I know that you miss your old life. And I’m sorry. But you gotta cut me a little slack here, bud.”

There was a little flash, off to the side of the porch, and Sid saw that a hanging swing had appeared. It had a tiny heart cut into the back of it, and it creaked a little, almost hopefully, as it rocked. Sid ran a hand through his hair, releasing a small cloud of dust. “Listen, I get it. But normal people don’t fall in love and get married and produce children in two weeks. It takes time.” The swing creaked a little louder. “Not to mention, I for sure am not gonna get him to go out with me if I’m covered in dust. And sweat, God, so much fucking sweat, can I please have the shower back?”

From inside, he heard the stereo start up, playing softly at first, and then with slowly increasing volume—oh God, it was ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine. “House, this is _ not _ Magic Mike, I am _ not _ a stripper. Normal human sweatiness is _ not _ a turn-on for most people. Give me the motherfucking shower back.” A laugh track ran, and then the front door opened. Sid could hear the shower running inside.

He finally managed to get clean, but when he had finally relaxed enough to get a hand on himself again, the shower ran cold. He gave up, glaring balefully at the showerhead. “Fuck you.”

*

On Wednesday, Geno’s shop was a cat cafe. They sat on a tiny couch, thighs touching, while Geno flicked a feather on a string around, a dozen cats watching attentively. The room was stuffed with cat towers, scratching posts, and toys; little mice stuffed with catnip were scattered around the room, and the cats were in heaven. It was one of the busiest times Sid had ever seen in Geno’s shop, with clumps of people sprawled on the couches and floor, cooing over stupid cat antics.

“Oh, is midterm week, Sid,” Geno explained, when Sid asked about the day’s theme. “Lots of college kids have test, so stressful. They need, like, cuddle time.” He teased a calico’s nose with the feather, and she batted at it ferociously. “Plus, is nice for me, too. Miss having cat.”

“You don’t have one now?”

Geno shook his head. “No, not since I leave Russia. Dixi too old to come with me, so I leave her with parents. She die two years ago.”

Sid winced. “That sucks, G, sorry.”

He shrugged. “Is okay. Just miss her, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I had to leave my dog with my folks when I moved to Toronto for work a few years ago.” Sid said, throwing a mouse toy for an extraordinarily fat orange tom. The cat stared at the toy, then shifted his gaze to Sid with a look that he could only describe as condescending. He sneered back at the cat, then glanced at Geno. “Do you ever think about moving back? To Russia, I mean.”

“No,” Geno said, his mouth pinched. “In Russia, is not like Canada. Magic illegal after Reformation, you know. Have to keep very quiet, very secret.” He poked a cat with his foot, and it stretched lazily. “I miss family, of course, but—I like be who I am, no hiding, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Plus,” Geno hesitated a little bit, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Plus, Canada have so many cute boys.”

Sid was absolutely on fire. He was one hundred percent burning up right this very moment. He was about to be a pile of ash. He slanted a look down at his hands, surprised not to see flames springing up from his skin. “Yeah,” he rasped, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, it does.”

Geno raised his head to meet Sid’s eyes, and the eye contact was so piercing and it should have felt awkward, but Geno smiled, and suddenly Sid could breathe again. “So I’m glad I stay here, in Canada.”

“Me—me too, G.” Sid replied, and nudged his knee against Geno’s. “It would be weird, not having you here. Now that I know you, I mean.” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

*

“Sid, can come meet your house, soon?”

They were walking back from the Hornqvist’s house, after dealing with poor Malin’s gnome infestation. They had been absolutely tearing up her vegetable gardens, and Geno had gone in to negotiate with them earlier in the week. Their list of demands had consisted of a bag of sour gummy worms and a renovated chicken coop. Sid had been called in to work on the chicken coop, which apparently required a tiny door (complete with doorbell), and for bunk beds to be installed for the gnomes to sleep in. It was one of the weirder projects Sid had ever worked on, but Malin was thrilled with the results (upon receiving the gummy worms, the gnomes’ collective disposition had turned sunny, and they promised to do pest control in the vegetable garden). 

Sid coughed. “You—you want to come meet the house?”

Geno huffed lightly—one little, almost-giggle. His eyes sparkled in the pale sunlight, and Sid sucked in a lungful of air, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Yes, Sid—you still have problems, right?”

He definitely did. The house provided only cool showers, now, and had recently begun stealing things from his dresser and nightstand. He had only really noticed when his lube had gone missing, and the resulting temper tantrum had ended only when Esther poked her head through the wall to see what was going on. She had blushed dark blue and quickly retreated, but neither of them had been able to look each other in the eye for a few days. It was fine. “I mean, we have some problems. We’re, uh, we’re working through them.”

Geno slid him an amused look. “Yes, I know, but is why we meet, at first. So I can help.”

Sid blanched. “Uh, for sure, but it’s just that, um, I don’t know how the house will react to a stranger?” God, that was such a weak excuse, and from the look on Geno’s face, he knew it.

“Sid…” Geno started, then stopped. “I don’t—if you don’t want my help, it okay.”

“No!” Sid burst out, cringing at himself. “No, of course I want you—I want your help.” Fucking goddamnit. “You’ve already been so helpful in getting the house and I really talking, I’m just—”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m just worried the house is going to embarrass me, okay?” Sid interrupted, his voice breaking into a little bit of a whine. “It’s been better, the last week or so, but it still can be really stupid sometimes, and I’m worried what it’ll do if you come over.”

Geno smiled, the relief on his face palpable. “Sid, you best friend with Flower. He embarrass all the time.”

“Yeah, well, at least he has some boundaries to the lengths he will go.”

“Does he, really?” Geno questioned, and okay, yeah, a few days ago Flower thought it would be hilarious to sneak an itching powder into Sid’s running shorts, and Geno had gotten the gift of watching Sid nearly levitate off the ground when the magic kicked in. 

“Fine, so everyone around me is just waiting to embarrass me in front of the guy that—” Sid paused, mortified that he had almost revealed his big idiot crush, and finished weakly, “The guy that is my new best friend." He winced. "Effective immediately. Flower has been displaced.”

Geno laughed. “Yes, everyone in town conspire against you. We go see house now?” His eyes twinkled. “I promise I don’t laugh if house do something weird.”

His feelings were written all over his face, he was sure. He nodded dumbly, and they set off to visit with the house.

*

Sid didn’t have any magical powers, himself. He bought all of his charms and wards from stores, or got them wholesale from work. But as they walked up to the house, he willed with all of the power in his body that he suddenly develop house-specific telepathy. _ Don’t you fuck this up for me _ , he sent silently, his whole body nearly vibrating with tension. _ I like this guy a lot, don’t make this fucking weird _.

And maybe he and the house shared a special bond, or Sid had suddenly developed a relationship with an invisible djinn who granted only thought wishes. Because the house looked perfectly normal. Not a tricycle or children’s playground or wedding day flower arch in sight. Sid sighed in relief.

“So, this is the house,” Sid croaked, and cleared his throat. “It was built in the early 1900s, hardwood floors, plaster—hobbies include pelting me with dirt and stealing my groceries, and long walks on the beach at sunset.”

Geno snorted. Sid was so fucking endeared. “Hi, house. My name Evgeni, can call Geno.” He sauntered up the stairs and over to the porch swing, which had stayed despite Sid’s repeated arguments with the house. Sid actually really liked the swing, but it was the principle of the thing. “Mind if I sit?”

The swing creaked a little, and Geno sat, motioning for Sid to sit next to him. “Thank you, house. You have very nice porch.” 

Sid was starting to feel a little bad. It had been a while since he and the house had been nice to each other, and he had left off paying it any of the little compliments that he had given when he first moved in. The house had been apparently yearning for them, though, because with Geno’s words all the solar lights that Sid had installed months ago (and that promptly broke) suddenly glowed with pride. He blushed when Geno turned to him with a quizzical lift to his eyebrows. 

“House say you hate swing.”

“I don’t hate it I just—it just bullied me into having it. I like the swing.” He fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I liked the swing, house.”

It swung lightly without Sid or Geno pushing it, which Sid took as an acceptance of his apology. Geno frowned, opened his mouth, shut it again. He cocked his head at Sidney. “I don’t—sorry, Sid, house is being very confuse. Is—” he paused, searching for a word, “House is being—close-mouth?”

“Close-mouthed, yeah, that’s a saying.” Sid nodded, thanking his invisible wish-granter, and also the house. He stroked the arm of the swing. “Maybe it’s tired, I dunno.”

Geno was visibly confused. “Maybe.”

“Oh...hello there.”

Geno yelped as Esther appeared, gazing up at them from where her head popped up from underneath the porch. His gaze moved from her to Sid, wide-eyed. “Sid?”

Sid closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that he was going to be embarrassed today, no matter what. “Geno, this is Esther. Esther, Geno.”

Her smile was nearly dripping with smugness. “Oh, _ Geno _ , it is so good to _ finally _ meet you, Sid has told me so much about you.”

“Only nice thing, I hope.” Geno smiled nervously. “Here to talk with house.”

“Oh, is that all?” She tittered, and Sid shot her a quelling look. “And here I was hoping you are going to be more...hands on.”

“Oh my God, Esther.” 

She flapped a hand at him, and floated up to lay sideways in the air at eye-level. “So, Geno, will we get to see you around here more often? All of Sid’s friends are married, it’d be nice to have some...single, male company around here.” She winked salaciously. 

Sid was going to kill her. He was going to find a way to make her corporeal, and then he was going to kill her. “Esther, shut up.”

Geno’s cheeks were red. “I, uh, yes. I’d—” he cleared his throat, “I come over more, I think.” A mildly panicked look in his eyes, he mumbled, “If that okay with Sid.”

“Oh for sure, yep, that’s a definitely.” Sid was going to kill Esther, and then himself. He was such a moron. “But for tonight, I think maybe we should say good night to Esther and then maybe meet up for coffee tomorrow?”

“Yes, good plan,” Geno agreed hurriedly, and stood, setting the swing to swaying. Sid stared up at him, God, he was so fucking tall. If they weren’t on his front porch (if a ghost wasn’t watching, eyes glinting with interest) (if he wasn’t worried about the house blasting love songs at any given moment) (if Sid had managed to actually tell Geno that he was basically in love with him), Sid would be on his knees right now. “Yes, okay, see you tomorrow. Bye, Esther, nice to meet!” He sprinted off the porch and down the street.

“Fuck you, Esther, way to make that weird.”

She started to float away, grinning evilly at him. “Just saying, move it along, Squid. He’s so into you, you should have just kissed him.”

He shooed her away. “Go creep on Dr. Vyas, or something. Leave me alone.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and drifted across the street, fading out of view in the purple evening light. He sighed gustily, and went back to mildly petting the arm of the swing. “See, house, _ you _ were incredibly polite. You are perfect and beautiful, and I appreciate you greatly.”

The swing creaked, and the porch light blinked on, bathing him in a warm yellow glow. He smiled softly. “We are gonna get there, someday, house. Don’t worry.” He stood, giving the porch rail one last pat before heading towards the door. 

From somewhere, he heard the teasing whisper, “You should have kissed him…” 

“Shut up, Esther,” he yelled, and slammed the front door shut.

*

When Sid showed up to Geno’s shop a couple days later, it was back to the book-maze extravaganza of a few weeks ago. He frowned and stepped carefully around teetering stacks of papers, juggling his own coffee and Geno’s preferred to-go cup of ultra-sweet tea. “Hey, G? Victoria?” Of the two Gonchar girls, Victoria was the one more likely to be hanging out on a study day.

Sid’s hunch proved correct, when Victoria ambled out of that little back room. “Hey, Sid. Zhenya’s not here right now, I think he made a run over to Christina’s for some sort of magical text he doesn’t have here.”

Sid drooped a little. “Oh, okay, thanks. Could you let him know I stopped by?”

“Sure.” She motioned to the to-go cup. “Did you want me to put a stasis spell on that for him? I assume it’s for him—I feel like I could smell the jam as soon as you walked in.”

Sid laughed, and handed the cup over. “Yeah, thanks, Victoria. I guess I’ll see you—”

Just then, Geno burst in the door, looking frazzled, carrying an absolutely massive book, bound in green leather. “Sid! Is good you here, I have question.”

Victoria smirked at Sid and handed Geno the tea. “Zhenya, Sid got you a present. Drink this and chill out, okay?”

Geno took the cup on autopilot, and motioned Sid to the back room. He followed, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the towers of books and research materials spread out on the table. “Geno? What’s going on? Did Malin’s gnomes stage a revolt?”

Geno shook his head and took a deep drag from the to-go cup. He sighed and hung his head. “Sid, I have confess, I don’t know what happen with you house.” His hair was standing on end, as if he had been repeatedly running his hands through it all day. “I never have thing, have building, that refuse to talk before. Is very confuse for me.”

Sid grimaced. “I’m sorry, G, it’s a weird house, for sure. But I definitely don’t want you getting all upset over it, like this. It’s just a house.”

Geno shook his head, his mouth an unhappy line. “No, Sid, I know is not that simple. Flower explain to me, in beginning, how difficult house is make your life.” He had finished his tea and was now crushing the cup in his massive hands. “I try do research, find way to neg—negotiate,” he sounded out the word carefully, “but maybe I mess up, somehow? Maybe I make worse for you, Sid, I so sorry.”

Sid cursed at himself for letting this get so out of hand. “G, no, I promise, you’re seriously the best for even talking to me about this.” He reached out and rubbed at Geno’s shoulder, feeling the tension radiating along the line of his back. “You are one of the most incredible people I know, I don’t want you to feel bad about this. Likely, the house is just being a jerk.” He felt a little bad about pinning it all on the house like that, but needs must.

Geno chuckled wetly, and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Maybe,” he said doubtfully, “But I never meet house that won’t talk to me for no reason.”

“Sid? Geno? Are you here?”

Sid frowned. “Flower? What’re you doing here?” It was evening, way past time for Flower to be home with Vero and the kids. “Is everything okay?”

Flower dashed into the room, shoulders heaving with his panting breaths. “Sid, your house—I think something is seriously wrong with it. I’ve already called Kris, so he and the crew are on their way there, but,” he drew a little packet out of his back pocket, “you and G should head there right now, okay?” He opened the packet, scooped out a handful of sparkling gold dust (why was it always dust?) and chucked it at Sid and Geno while they stood there, staring at him in bemusement. 

“Flower, what are you—” Sid’s words were cut off, as he quickly found out what Flower was doing. The asshole had thrown Quik-Transport powder at them, and they were being sucked through space and time in the way that only discount transportation methods had. 

They were spat out onto the street outside of Sid’s house, gasping for air. “Fuck you, Flower,” Sid wheezed, hands on his knees. “That fucking sucks, jerk.”

“Sid, quick,” Geno was also puffing for air, but he was pointing at Sid’s house. “What different, what happen?” 

Sid was sure of a couple of things, pretty quickly. He was sure that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the house, and that Kris and the rest of the firemen were _ not _ on their way to his house. He was also pretty sure that Flower was being a horrible, nosy, conniving French Canadian. 

Flower and the house were in league with each other, that was a definite.

The house had pulled out all the stops. The diamond-paned windows gleamed in the late afternoon sun, reflecting shimmering light onto the lush gardens with its autumn roses and (resurrected?) chrysthanthemums. A romantic cello suite was playing from an open set of French doors, with sheer white curtains drifting in a nonexistent dreamy breeze. And Esther was sitting on the porch swing, grinning maniacally at Sid and giving him a double thumbs-up. 

Geno paused in the street, and stared up at the house. Sid began to panic. His house (and the neighborhood ghost) was flashing his big idiot crush across the sky, basically with neon lights or maybe a sky writer? He narrowed his eyes, squinting at an addition the house had apparently decided was necessary. He couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to me—maybe a shed? But maybe not, as steam was pouring out of a small chimney. He shifted his attention back to Geno, whose mouth was open as he looked at the house. 

“So—”

“Is that _banya_?” 

“I actually don’t know what that is—the house must have added it on while I’ve been out.”

Geno blinked, and scrubbed his hands through his hair before turning to look at him. “Sid.” 

“Yes!” Sid burst out, unable to hold it in anymore, “It is probably a _banya_, whatever that is! And the house is obnoxiously clean, and you will not find a splinter or poky corner anywhere!” 

“Sid.” 

“Probably all of the houseplants have come back to life, and my furniture miraculously fits perfectly in every room!” 

“Sid.” 

“I bet there is only one toilet in the bathroom, and that the house has returned all my hand towels.” 

“Hey, Sid.” 

Sid blew out an exasperated breath. “What?”

“Not sure if I read wrong, or no,” Geno said, finally, after long moments of standing in silence, staring at the house. 

Sid’s stomach lurched a little, and he took a deep breath. Hope curled tightly in his chest and he opened his mouth, paused, bit his lip. “Read what?” He managed to say, and his voice sounded rough, croaky. He cleared his throat. 

Geno didn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. “I like spend time, with you.”

“Me too, G,” he said, and felt the heat rise in his cheeks, on the back of his neck. “I like it so much, and you’ve been so helpful with the house, it’s been—you’ve been the best.”

Geno shifted a little closer. “I—” he started to say, but stopped.

“It’s not just this,” Sid said, and his breathing was rough. His heart was in his throat, it felt like. “I like that we can share this, that—” he broke off, his throat closing up, finding it exceedingly difficult to actually say out loud, to find words to explain how Geno has been making him feel these past few weeks.

But maybe he didn’t need words, Sid thought recklessly. He hoped (he thought) maybe he could—he reached out and took Geno’s hand in his, laced their fingers together, stroked his thumb over Geno’s, wishing.

Geno sucked in a breath, and Sid began to panic (maybe this wasn’t what Geno wanted at all, maybe Sid had made a mistake), but Geno leaned all the way into Sid’s space to grab the back of Sid’s neck, pulling him in, crushing their mouths together 

Geno kissed him. Geno was kissing him. He wrapped an arm around Sidney’s waist and held him there, stroking lightly at the curve of his lower back. Sid gasped into his mouth, and Geno slid his tongue along Sidney’s lower lip and it was delicious. Everything was perfect and Geno was going to kill him. His kisses were messy and generous and perfect.

Except for when Geno stopped kissing Sidney. Then, everything was terrible. Sid groaned, and Geno laughed at him. “Hey, Sid.”

“What.”

“Could just ask me out, you know?”

“Yeah, well, I promise, there was a real problem with this house when I met you. And for a while after I met you."

“Just need perfect boyfriend, huh.”

“Shut up. The house is smug enough, I don’t need you pumping its tires.”

Geno frowned at him in confusion, and went to look at the house. Sid grabbed his chin in one hand and pressed a kiss to his lips. “No, don’t look at it. It’s gloating. We’re going to go get dinner and leave it alone.” The yard had filled with blooming pink roses, and Sid thought he could see the house actively constructing some sort of romantic ivy-slung pergola in the backyard. He tugged at Geno’s hand when a tiny tricycle wheeled out of the garage. “Let’s go, eh?" 

Geno grinned at him and wound their fingers together. “House is happy.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’d it say?”

Geno laughed, the sound lighting Sid up inside. “House say, welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr as silkymittsmcgee


End file.
